MARGIT.

--If so be that you can win her to think kindly of you.


BENGT.

[Anxiously, and half aside.] Nay--nay, my dear wife--


KNUT.

[Springing up.] Stands it so, Dame Margit! You think that your
sister--


BENGT.

[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have patience,
now. You must understand us aright.


MARGIT.

There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows you
only by the songs that are made about you--and these songs sound
but ill in gentle ears.

No peaceful home is your father's house.
With your lawless, reckless crew,